The Last Day Of Life
by SadRebel
Summary: The events of the morning leading up to the movie Versus. Note that the characters in the film do not have names, so I named them myself. Slight homosexual reference and reference to death and violence. Oneshot.


The Last Day of Life

Cast

Main Guy/Neo/Tak Sakaguchi Yashamaru

Glasses Guy/Kazuhito Ohba Seiji

Giggles/Captain Spaz/Kenji Matsuda Haru

The Runt/ Minoru Matsumoto Shenji

The Bad Guy/Him/He/Hideo Sakaki Masai

Biker/Prostitute McBiker Slut/ Yuichiro Arai Sasuku

Never Get Dirty Woman/Blood of Resurrection/Chieko Misaka Mizuzu

Red Haired Assassin/Takehiro Katayama Sugimuru

Vampire Lady/Gun Woman/Ayumi Yoshihara Michiko

Fighter Lady/Hoshimi Asai San

Stumpy/Stump of Justice/One Hand Man/Shoichiro Masumoto Pan

Facial Scarring Man/Fighter Cop/Lies About Everything Man/Yukihito Tanikado Sushi

Spare Prisoner/Motonari Komiya Denke

Samurai Man/Sacrifice/Toshiro Kamiaka Ashitaka

Ugly Toupee Man/Dies and Zombiefies/Yakuza Boss/ Ryosuke Watabe D

* * *

Seiji awoke with a start, pulled from sleep by the irritating buzz and blip of the alarm clock. A continuous steam of sound so loud and so bothersome, Seiji had long since wondered why on earth they had bought it in the first place. Groggily, Seiji lifted his hand from the depths of the sheets, where it had been resting quite comfortably on his thigh, and began to stretch his arm towards the annoying white box, when another arm appeared from behind him holding a shiny silver pistol with a mahogany inlaid handle. Two deafening shots where let off, and the alarm clock burst into a million tiny plastic fragments. The pistol was tossed aside and a strong hand gripped Seiji's outstretched arm, drawing it back under the blankets. Seiji smiled to himself as he felt the poke of a nose between his naked shoulder blades and the soft brush of hair on his neck.

"You can't keep shooting the things you don't like" said Seiji calmly, as if this scenario was a natural, everyday occurrence.

"Can, and will" replied the voice of Haru from somewhere near his spine. Twisting his arm behind him; Seiji pushed Haru away and rolled over; starring into his companions disgruntled face. Running his fingers through Haru's curls, Seiji remarked; "That's some nice bed-hair you've got there" before leaning in to kiss his boyfriend on the lips. As an aroused Haru placed a hand on Seiji's arse, the phone rang. Seiji raised an eyebrow and Haru, making the most ridiculous face and poking out his tongue, rolled out of the bed and slouched comically into the kitchen. Haru let the phone ring a few more times; hopefully the person on the other end would get bored and hang up. Three dial tones later, a defeated Haru lifted the receiver from its cradle.

"Hello?" he asked groggily.

"It's time" came the monotone answer; distant as though spoken through a cloud. Haru had just enough time to register the connotations of the call before he heard a faint click, signalling the person on the other end of the line had hung up. Haru starred at the receiver for a few moments, before being distracted by Seiji's semi-naked presence beside him.

Resting his chin on Seiji's shoulder, Haru whispered "It's time. But I have an important call to make first…"

---

Yashamaru sat with his back against the smooth stone wall of his cell. He was awaiting the convoy that would transfer him to another prison; one with tighter security and stricter guards. Having had absolutely no sleep or sunshine for seventy-two hours was beginning to catch up with him; he felt small and withdrawn and desperately tired. He went over and over in his head what he had done to land himself in prison; evaluating his mistakes and promising himself he'd be more careful in the future. Then he would laugh. Yashamaru's travelling companion, the jittery Denke, was in the cell next to him. Denke apparently had some contacts or something and according to the convict they'd be free after today. Yashamaru didn't exactly trust Denke, but he had nothing to lose so he agreed. The door in front of him clicked and chinked several times, and a cop in a brown jacket walked in, smoking a cigarette and looking attentively at Yashamaru. He had brought along a set of handcuffs with which he bound them together. Yashamaru raised an eye brow at this, and wondered if Denke would have a solution for it. Outside the grim walls of the prison, Yashamaru; revelling in the warmth of the sunlight, spotted a green-ish four-wheeler, which the ugliest man on the planet was pushing Denke into. Denke turned purposefully and nodded at Yashamaru as the smoking cop pushed him into the back of the car and climbed in afterwards. Yashamaru inclined his head in Denke's direction and Denke held up eight fingers. It was currently seven in the morning and Denke's Yakuza contacts were meeting them at nine, so Denke reasoned they'd need roughly an hour to travel through the forest. He turned around as the detective with the facial scarring got into the drivers seat and settled back into the chair. Denke played out the conversation he'd had with the Yakuza in his mind – once more – to make sure he'd gotten everything exactly right. He had absolutely no idea why they'd suggested he help Yashamaru escape as well, but he reasoned they had some form of agenda he would take no part in. As long as he was out of jail, that was all that mattered. Behind Denke, the prisoner KSC2 – 303 fiddled with the handcuffs and whistled out of tune.

---

Sushi, bored with the drive already and thoroughly irritated by the prisoners incessant whistling, concentrated on the scenery around him; his mind wandering back and forth between the task at hand, and the off sided comment he'd received that morning about the scar on his face, which stretched from his hairline to the tip of his nose. A few of his colleagues at the station; particularly the younger females and elders with children, had taken to calling him "Harry Potter". He had no idea who this "Potter" character was, but that did not stop it from bothering him some what. Only this morning it had been: "Is that coffee, Happy Potter? Or pumpkin juice?" followed by some inane laughter. Sushi was in the middle of wondering who in their right mind would drink pumpkin juice, when a yell from his partner startled him into reality. The prisoner; KSC2 – 303, had begun pulling on the handcuffs that bound him to Pan: pulling so hard that the metal was beginning to cut him. As Pan reached out to punch the kid with his free hand, the four-wheeler took a sharp turn and was suddenly air born. Seconds later the car came crashing down on its side and began to roll. Pan gave an involuntary yell of surprise as the glass in his window shattered, showing him with fragments of solidified sand. The prisoner beside him gave an almighty wrench on the cuffs, and Pan felt a cold metallic substance enter his bloodstream via his wrist. An unbearable pain followed, rendering Pan immobile. He watched helplessly as the prisoner in the front of the car backhanded the startled Sushi, grabbed his comrade and scrambled though the broken window and off into the forest.

---

Masai starred into the lifeless eyes of the assassin; Ashitaka. A crevice in the mans stomach was bleeding profusely, and Masai avoided it as best he could as he tied the limp figure to a tree with some barbed wire, next to some unfortunate man who was missing several organs and appendages – obviously he'd gotten himself on the wrong end of the stick with some Yakuza thugs. Taking a small gourd, Masai collected some blood from the late Ashitaka and stored it in his jacket pocket for later. Then, turning from the lifeless corpse, Masai picked up his briefcase, inserted a hand into his pocket, and wandered off into the thicket, whistling absentmindedly.

---

Shenji looked up from the sink and into the mirror; cold water dripping off his face. He'd never been so nervous in his life – What was D thinking? Making deals with convicted criminals – What next? Sighing loudly, Shenji dried his face and left the bathroom, pausing only once to collect his amulet and arsenal before departing from his tiny apartment. In his car, Shenji attempted to slow his breathing as he drove to pick up Seiji and Haru from Down Town. His apprehension turned to disgust as he parked parallel to their house. Shenji honked the horn, effectively shattering the romantic scene taking place on the veranda. After making the most idiotic face he could manage, Haru guided Seiji into the back of Shenji's awaiting car, while Shenji drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tried to ignore them. When he heard the car door slam, Shenji inwardly sighed with relief and pulled away from the curb. He'd let D sort them out.

---

D twirled the phone cord between his fingers, whistling along with the elevator music that sprang forth from the radio like an army of old people after 8pm. The quarry of D's dial tones eventually picked up, and greeted the Yakuza boss in a some what drowsy, irritated and sex-slurred croak: "Hello?"

D placed a cloth over the receiver, for no reason other then to mask his annoyance.

"It's time" he drawled, and hung up. Haru got on his nerves almost as much as Shenji did, with his unstoppable tirade on omens and bodes. The amulet-fetish was one thing, but to speak of every job setting as ominous roused the normally placid D to madness. Scratching his eyebrow tiredly, D picked up the phone once more, dialled Shenji's number and repeated his dead-pan message. Afterwards, feeling the weight of his thirty-something years as a slave to crime, D took a shower, donned his favourite brown leather jacket and adjusted his toupee; almost certain the hair didn't look fake. Three loud, unceremonious toots told D the 'convoy' was here, and a double headed mass in the back of the Merc told him he'd have to separate Seiji and Haru.

"Strictly business or you're fired." Growled D threateningly.

---

Mizuzu had always felt as though her life was meant for better things, for some stronger reincarnation then herself. Her grandmother repeatedly told her; it was not how the power was contained. Rather, how that container chose to use their power. The container of the Blood of Resurrection sighed deeply, donned a feather necklace, took one last look in the mirror, and descended the stairs to join her 'family' for breakfast. There were seven in total, all older then Mizuzu, all wise and noble community-carers who like to remind the young container that the fate of the world may one day rest in her hands. But as her feet came to a halt at the bottom of the stairwell is was not the comforting gaze of elder Ichigo, nor the familiar scent of jasmine tea from her grandfather's room that greeted her. Instead, at the foot of the stairs, stood Sasuku, twirling a gun in one hand and a syringe in the other. Sasuku looked up at the girl, Mizuzu, and lunged toward her before she could react, injecting the vile smelling, iridescent green tranquilizer into her exposed elbow. Taking the limp figure over his shoulder like a sack of potato's, Sasuku snuck out of the house, mounted his bike and sped off with unnecessary urgency to the meeting place. Never one for truancy or disloyalty, Sasuku arrived at the meeting place on time, with the Blood of Resurrection still perched; paralysed over his bike. The roar of a car engine told him his fellow Yakuza had arrived. Sasuku helped D store the lifeless Mizuzu in the back seat next to the indifferent yet clearly pouting Haru, mounted his bike and followed the Merc towards the forest.

---

Sugimuru wiped his dark glasses on his sleeve and replaced them on his face, pushing them up the bridge of his nose unnecessarily; out of habit. His flaming red hair caught his eye in the rear view mirror, and he lifted a hand from the steering wheel to run his fighters fingers through the mess. He wasn't sure what job Michiko had gotten for her compatriots this time, but; like always, Sugimuru wasn't all that interested. Nothing fuelled him anymore; not the thrill of battle nor the success of wealth. Sugimuru's expressionless face betrayed his unwavering indifference and his scorn for life in general. Behind dark glasses, eyes showed little emotion as he pulled up in front of Sans' apartment. Slipping into the passenger seat, San paused to note the fresh smell of leather and pine that decorated every new car. She registered Sugimuru's indifference and flicked her index and middle fingers stiffly, indicating he should drive on. San leant her head against the window, watching as the grey of buildings became the brown of houses that became the green of trees. Eventually the car slowed and pulled up at a gas-station-turned-cafe. San watched as a Vampire-like Michiko sauntered towards the car in over-confidant strides. She always walked like this; it made her feel authoritative and sexy. Sliding into the back seat, Michiko glanced once into the rear vision mirror and nodded. Sugimuru began driving again. Starring at her perfect nails passed the time quite quickly for Michiko: they were far enough away from civilization, but just far enough from their destination to feel safe. After making pleasantries, Michiko became serious and outlined the day's agenda;

"This morning I received a call from a Yakuza, quite high up, whose name is Haru. He's planning on defying his employer, and he needs some back up. We're to meet here-" At this point Michiko pulled out a map, marked with an X and handed it to San, "-That's all I know, and that's all I need to know. Plus, there's a huge revenue to be collected upon completion of the assigned task." She concluded matter-of-factly, smirking diabolically to herself.

---

Masai, stationed on a crest of rock that overlooked the Forest of Resurrection, rivalled Michiko's merciless smirk with his own.

"The players are all in place," he said to no-one in particular, "let the games begin!"

* * *

Fin. 


End file.
